


An Infestation

by bbluejoseph



Series: CANYOUSAVE [6]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, M/M, Nobody Dies, Past Sexual Abuse, ambiguous ending, it's not graphic but it's there, mentions of vomiting, please don't read if you could be triggered!! im serious, this is not a happy one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-19 08:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20327932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbluejoseph/pseuds/bbluejoseph
Summary: Tyler has not cried for years, perhaps, but his body is frantic, like it is trying to make up for the loss.





	An Infestation

**Author's Note:**

> I have created lots of things over the years (fics, art, edits, etc.) but this is by far the worst one i have ever let myself post. it's not gramatically flawed, there's not dozens of spelling mistakes, it's the content itself that is terrible. i like my fics to have happy endings, to have clear resolutions with problems solved. with this story, i am acknowledging that not every issue has an easy resolution, much less one can be reached in 700 words. 
> 
> on that note, please do not read this if you could be triggered by rape/non con or sexual abuse. if you could be triggered by those things but you feel like you have to read this story, THIS IS YOUR SIGN to skip it and read something else. I won't be offended or upset, i promise. please take care of yourself. I love you.

How is he to know what is what? Maybe Tyler, in and of himself, is the only person that makes sense (the only person) but there should be some logic, yes? Some baseline for the world to cling to, like a ship to the waves? There must be a reason his mind--his body, as well--feel so horrible. He can’t be making this up.

Where is it? Where is the baseline? Tyler has never found it. He is unsure if it’s even real.

Everything was fine when Josh went in the shower, but when he came back out, Tyler was buried under all the blankets on their bed, wearing his thickest hoodie and sweating from the temperature. It doesn’t matter that it’s winter, now--this is another matter entirely, one that has nothing to do with the weather outside. Some things cannot be escaped no matter what the season.

Tyler has not cried for years, perhaps, but his body is frantic, like it is trying to make up for the loss. A tremor, destroying the earth and all that builds its home there. He feels like he should be convulsing, vomiting, spilling his guts out onto the floor. He feels as if there should be some sort of outward display, a proof as to what he is feeling within him.

There is no proof. There is no proof for anything, and maybe that is the problem. Or part of it.

“Don’t touch me,” he pleads, almost the moment Josh gently lifts the covers. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me.” A prayer.

“I won’t, I promise. I won’t touch you,” Josh clarifies, and Tyler relaxes a little. His hands are clenching and unclenching--something he does sometimes when he is feeling well, but now he is not. It is similar in the way that a cat purrs when it is in pain, like a part of its body is trying to heal itself.

“Do you need anything?” 

Tyler shakes his head. “No. Yes.”

“What do you need?”

“Don’t go.” Tyler pauses. “But don’t stay, either.”

Josh settles for sitting in the doorway, the entrance to their room. He gently reminds Tyler that the windows and doors are locked, and that he’s safe here.

But he isn’t, and that is maybe the one thing Josh doesn’t quite understand yet. He has to let it happen, or an even worse fate will befall him. 

He convulses finally, muscles clenching, but he cannot throw up.

This isn’t like his other times. This isn’t a nightmare that can be soothed, an anxiety he can be talked down from. There are few words Tyler allows himself to use to describe this, because he is so afraid of it, and so afraid that he is lying to himself. 

This is unclean. This is not sacred.

Josh doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know what happened, this thing that drives Tyler to terror. He knows the way he reacts at casual mentions, the clenching fists and wide eyes and abrupt silence, but he doesn’t know. Nobody does. Least of all, Tyler himself.

What is a curse, exactly? What is this horrid, vile thing that comes in so many forms and figures? Who is Tyler to say? 

He’s being sensitive, stupid, dramatic. Treating a misdemeanor like a felony. His family would laugh at him--Josh would laugh at him--for even implying something so impossible. Respected, valued, honored. The curse-giver carries only a good reputation. Tyler is lying. He needs to be.

It’s something he can’t ever explain. It’s a hell his body goes through just as much as his brain does.

By the time it’s done, he’s exhausted. Josh can see that it’s over because Tyler has thrown all his blankets off and is laying on top of the bed, still in his sweatshirt, but his body is less rigid. His boyfriend carefully climbs up next to him, takes a seat, careful not to touch him.

Neither of them speaks. After a little while, Josh leads him out of the bedroom, leaving him in the living room to watch TV while he heats up some dinner. Tyler sits on the couch, mind still hazy, and just tries not to think about it. 

Time passes. They eat dinner, watch TV a while longer, and go to sleep. Tyler hopes--hopes--his brain will reset. Tomorrow, perhaps, he will wake up, and his body will have forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> to anyone who has commented on my fics recently, and has not received a reply: I'm still here! I've just been going through some shit™️ lately. I'll get to your comments as soon as I'm able!!


End file.
